


Forget Not All His Benefits

by lielabell



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, woe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-09
Updated: 2011-09-09
Packaged: 2017-10-23 14:27:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/251334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lielabell/pseuds/lielabell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas, for his part, does that ridiculous head tilt of his, and Dean wishes that they could just go back to when everything was simple.  Back to when that confused head tilt would make Dean roll his eyes and smile.  Back to when things didn’t fucking hurt all the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forget Not All His Benefits

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the 103 Psalms.

Dean isn't the sort to beat around the bush. Sure, he's not really into talking about his feeling and all that shit, but what red-blooded American male is? So, yeah. _Feelings_ don't count and Dean's original statement remains: he's not the sort of guy to beat around the bush. If he thinks a girl’s hot, he tells her. If he thinks a movie sucks, he says so. If he think that Sammy is a cry baby, girly man with way too much product in his hair, he tells him. As loud as humanly possible. And then deals with the fallout, whether it be eye rolls or epic bitch-face or a sharp jab in the side.

But everything that went down with Cas... well that Dean just can't seem to wrap his head around. And if he can't even make heads or tails of it, how in the hell is he supposed to _deal_ with it?

It tears him up, this not understanding. Makes him question, makes him doubt. Makes his head hurt from running through all the explanations, trying to make things fit. Even with all the time that has passed, time in which Cas has made himself as scarce as if he really were God, Dean still isn’t able to do more than point out the obvious to himself.

The obvious being that A: Cas is crazy and B: whatever it was between them is dead. Erased from the not-angel-but-still- _not_ -God's memory as if it had never happened in the first place.

Which is why whatever the hell this is shouldn't even be happening. Because it's been a _year and a half_ , damn it. A year and a half of silence and confusion and knowing that the one thing that mattered is gone and will never come back again.

Until it did.

And Dean, who prides himself on talking straight, on saying what needs to be said, is left standing there looking like a fool with his mouth open and something dangerous bursting into life in his chest.

And _no._ That's so not happening. He's not going there.

Because this thing he had with Cas, it is done. Finished. Over in all ways possible. And, while it hurt like a bitch, Dean is at the point now where he is okay with that. Not _okay_ okay, but okay enough to not want to punch walls and rage about it any more. Okay to the point where Sam stopped walking on goddamn egg shells all the time and Bobby stopped patting him on the back and calling him "Son" with that sad, understanding look in his eyes. Okay enough that a bottle isn't his best friend and his heart doesn't fucking ache like he was a teenage girl whose boyfriend stood her up for the Prom.

And yeah, not understanding sucks. Will always suck. But Dean’s made his peace with that. He’s _okay_ with it, okay with fucking everything, because he is a grown ass man and he knows damn well that fairy tail endings only happen in Disney Movies, and even then only for princesses, which he certainly isn't.

So yeah. He is ready to just move the fuck on. To sign up for his own personal version of a mind-wipe, and pretend for the rest of forever that there never was an angel named Castiel who gripped him tight and raised him up only to kick him the fuck back down again.

But now he can't even play pretend. Because here that stupid ass angel is, with that stupid ass look on his face, the one that always makes Dean's stupid ass heart stutter and jump. And, damn it. How the hell is he supposed to deal with Cas, who is looking like shit with his trench coat tattered and bruises under his eyes, begging him for another chance?

Because, fuck. That's just not fair no matter how you slice it.

Dean looks into those bright blue eyes and some how manages to choke back all the hurt and bitterness that is forming on his lips. Because for all he likes to talk big about playing it straight, Dean’s never been able to be anything near that with Cas. Never once. And even now, with everything that’s happened, he still can’t do more than sigh, shake his head and ask, "What do you want from me?" like he can’t guess.

"Forgiveness," Cas says, his eyes closing briefly, as if looking at Dean was more than he could bare.

"God damn it, Cas," Dean grits out, because of course that’s what he wants. The one thing Dean knows he’ll never be able to give.

He half turns away, not trusting himself to be able to say what he knows he’s going to have to while he's looking at the angel, or _god_ or whatever the hell it is Cas has turned himself into. Which, honestly, if being God made you look that shit-wrecked, no wonder the real one went AWOL. He opens his mouth, but the words stick in his throat, turning into a lump that he can't seem to swallow, no matter how hard he tries.

Cas moves a step closer, close enough for Dean to feel the heat radiating off of him, hot like no human could be, hotter even than your average angel should be. It makes Dean's skin crawl and decides his mind for him. Because this? This isn't Cas. Hell, this isn't even _Castiel_ , uptight Angel of the Mother-Fucking Lord. This is just... _wrong._

And Dean says it. Because he's not the type who hems and haws, damn it, and they need to get the fucking point already. But the look in Cas's eyes when that word-- _wrong_ \-- falls into the space between them... well, it's enough to make Dean want to tear his tongue out.

Then Cas goes and says what Cas always says: "I did it for you. I did it all for you." His voice is whisper soft, his eyes wide and uncertain in that open, shattered face of his.

Dean’s gaze slide aways from Cas’s and he nods. "I know," he admits, the words cutting into what left of his stupid, fucking heart, making him bleed. "But what you did, what you have become," he shakes his head again, hands falling uselessly to his sides.

"Dean, please."

His eyes dart back to Cas without Dean's say so and the sight the greats them makes him ache. Because, no matter what he did to himself, this is still _Cas_. His Cas. Who is looking more broken than Dean can ever remember him being. Dean opens his mouth, then shuts it, not able to think of anything that doesn't start with, "You god damn fool," and end with Cas leaving him again.

Cas, for his part, does that ridiculous head tilt of his, and Dean wishes that they could just go back to when everything was simple. Back to when that confused head tilt would make Dean roll his eyes and smile. Back to when things didn’t fucking hurt all the time.

Because... because everything. And nothing.

Because Cas still thinks he's capital-G God. And that means that Cas is still crazy and the thing that they had between them is dead. As dead as the souls Cas took inside him. As dead as Cas's eyes when he threatened to smite them. As dead as dead can be.

Dean doesn't even realize he's said the words out loud until he sees Cas's head bow and his shoulders slump.

"I did what had to be done," he says, not meeting Dean's eyes. "There was no other solution, Dean. In that I am certain. In that I have no regret. But doing so cost me you. And that," his head comes up and his eyes flash in a way that makes Dean shiver, "that I will regret until the day I die."

Dean just stares at him, floundering for a response that isn't pure emotion. Something that isn't dark and colored by rage, bitterness, anger and hurt. But he waits half a beat too long and that look, that fire bright look, fades from Cas's eyes. Then Cas, the angel who fell and fell and fell some more, nods again and vanishes in a puff of hell-hot air.

And those words Dean couldn’t find? They come pouring out of him.

"Damn it, Cas!” he rages. “Why? Why did you have to do it? What makes you so sure that there was no other choice? Because there were other choices. You could have come to me. You could have shown a little fucking faith in me. I could have fixed it. I swear I could have." Dean’s voice breaks on the last word and he falls to his knees, eyes squeezed shut because he’s not fucking crying over this like he’s a god damn girl.

“Why?” he screams, his throat going raw from the effort of getting the word out. He slams his hands down on the floorboards, hard, then curls his stinging hands into fists, knuckles pushing into his thighs. “Why?” he whispers, rage suddenly gone, a big, gaping emptiness in its place.

Dean isn't the sort to play coy. He does what he says and says what means and to hell with the consequences. But emotions, god damn _feelings_ , have always been exempt from that rule. Which is why "bitch" is code for "I love you" and "no chick flick moments" means "fuck you, you know I care." And Dean, well he's never had a problem with that before. But now... now everything is different. Everything has gone wrong. And Dean, for all his pride in his take no prisoners conversational style, is forced to face the fact that he'll _never_ be able to say what matters to the being who mattered the most.


End file.
